Burning Blackness
by charisma5
Summary: Buffy finally admits that she's dead inside. A short fiction on her painful revelations, with a sad, surprise twist in the end.


Burning Blackness  
  
By: charisma  
  
Summary: Buffy has finally broken down. A short, sad fiction on her insane ramblings, and painful revelations. Warning; this fiction is dark. Takes place slightly before the Season 6 finale. From character's POV.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing. Cause if I did, I'd be living in that mansion in Malibu, baby.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please. I swear, it makes me a better person *g*  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"I'm tired of unhappy ever after endings. I'm tired of make believe heroes. I'm tired of waking up here. I'm tired of loving you."  
  
~*~*~*  
  
" I loved to watch the ocean in the bright sunlight. For hours I would stare at the blue mass as it danced under the sun, the rays glistening as they hit the water, sparkling like millions of diamonds thrown across a blue blanket. I would long to dive into the water, my body caressed by those cool depths, laughing as I swam in utter, natural beauty, surrounded by simple peace. Wet, salty drops streaming down my face, bouncing of my eyelashes when I blinked. I wanted so bad to swim, to splash around, to dive to the bottom of the deep dark sea and just be happy, knowing that my life was normal.  
  
But I didn't, because I was afraid of the churning water."  
  
I sit alone now, like I always do. Always alone. It's dusk, the sunlight dim and sultry as it streams through the wood blinds over the windows. Pink and buttery yellow, splashing across the wall and over my body, bathing my in gentle warmness as the tears course down my cheeks, wet and hot, dripping off my chin and onto my chest to meet that sweet sunlight.  
  
My heart still cries, but my mind doesn't anymore. My mind can't cry, can't think, can't feel. The light tendrils of the sun call to me, asking me to play, but I don't anymore. I don't, because nothing matters. Nothing hurts me, nothing loves me, nothing makes me feel. It's all gone. They're all gone. But their voices still haunt me, echoing in my head, twisting my brain until it hurts to breathe. All I can hear is them, and their disappointments, and sadness, and anger, and pain. Most of all I can hear their pain.  
  
Why do you stay? Why do you hurt me more than I can take?   
  
We stay because you're the one that hurt us, that made us cry, that pushed us away and killed us. It's your fault that we left.   
  
He left. He's never coming back, I know. Maybe it's for the best, it's better, it wasn't right. After all, the devil's greatest success was making people believe he didn't exist. My mind tells my heart this, but my heart doesn't care anymore. It's shattered to pieces, all tiny and jagged, piercing my insides so that they ache and bleed, so that they remind me that all I deserve is pain. Death is my gift, but pain is my lover. Follows me, weakens me, hurts me until I can't move. Can't get up anymore, even though I always have too. But maybe this time I won't get up, because I don't care what I have to do anymore. I don't care about anything, not even that arrogant, rapist asshole.  
  
Oops, I said the forbidden, naughty word. Sue me.  
  
She's gone too, even though she's still here. Swaying around the rough edges, hovering in her sullen pain and her avoidance of me. I cry to her, beg her to come back, but she doesn't hear me. She's alone in her loss, her pain, and she left herself a long time ago. Still here in body, but gone in sweet soul. My tears are useless to her, my love for her bouncing off the walls that surround her, my pleading vanishing into the thick, tense air that permeates the house. She too won't ever come back, and all I can do is keep the memories of my old best friend from flooding my brain, crashing through my heart, tearing up my soul. How can I keep loving someone that isn't even there? She hates me, just like everyone else. The wicked witch of the west can stand to criticize me when she goes ahead and injures my sister, and tortures a human. Oh yeah, bestest buddy, I can see how my life has problems. And where did you say that the last stop for the looney bin was?  
  
Thought so.  
  
Little sis isn't so little anymore. Little sis isn't even my sister anymore. Gone is the cute, playful girl that I used to have so much fun with, who I could tell almost anything, who I loved unconditionally. Instead I see a spiteful teenager who hates me, blames me for our problems, for the life she doesn't live.Everyday I look into her brown eyes and see anger and a loathing that used to eat me up inside. It doesn't anymore, because I can't feel anymore, the pain so intense that I'm numb inside. Maybe I've been numb for a long time, ever since I came back. I guess Dawn realized that I can't give her the love or care she needs, she deserves.  
  
Well, honey, sorry that I want to die.  
  
My rock, my support, he's been away for a long time. Months and months of that dark hole he left behind, when he decided that I needed to step up, to start caring. He thought that him leaving would make me better, make me stronger, make me start to feel again. Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't care. I don't feel. It's not his fault, of course, but he never even called to say hi, or how you doing, or are you still having homicidal urges. Nada, zip, zilch. With a quick exit, he was on that plane, away from me, away from my problems, away from my pain. People say that love endures everything, but it seems his love couldn't endure the torture I was going through. And if love can't endure hardships, than it really isn't love.  
  
Thank you, deary, for showing how much you care, you bloody British bastard.  
  
And than there's my knight in not-so-shining armor. The one person that hates me almost more than I do. Hates me because I never loved him back, because I never made the right decisions, because I'm not happy to be back, and because I still don't love him. Alexander Harris, demon bitch boy. Oh Xander, how the mighty have fallen, baby. Look who made the wrong decisions now. Still, he tried to help and he always cared for me like a big brother. But I have to ask if his concern for me was because he wanted to prove that he was strong, that he could help, too. Oh, how conflicted that boy is, even if he has a big heart.  
  
Keep trying, cause I'm sure you'll do something right sometime.  
  
I'm bitter, and angry, too. I hate them all, feeling that surge of indignant rage of their insolence and selfishness every time I speak their names. Why did they do this to me? Why did they have to bring me back into utter desolation and pain? Sure, they missed me. Sure, they might have loved me. But they did it because they needed me, didn't want to miss me anymore. And how selfish, how angering is that? Even him, with his blue eyes piercing my soul, wanted me back. Listened to my pain, but still was glad I walked among the god damn earth. Don't pretend to love me when you can't even stand me. I can't even stand myself.  
  
I'm supposed to be strong, to suck up my pain and put on the brave face. But I'm tired of it, and I won't do it anymore. What can I say, I'm a brooding bitch. Tell me that it's wrong to want to go back to Heaven, to feel truly happy and safe. I'm almost a single mother who holds down a crappy job while slaying demons, for god sakes. The greatest irony of it all, perhaps, is that I'm supposed to be dead, yet I was brought back by friends that as a Slayer I shouldn't even have. So really it's my fault, for becoming close to them, for sharing love, for needing care. It's my fault for wanting to be normal, for wanting to enjoy life and have people who will support me. But none of that matters anymore, because everything's over. Nothing is left anymore, and I'm left sitting in the huge, stinking pile of shit that is the remainder of a life that dissipated into that pretty blue smoke, like that that used to come from his ever-present cigarettes.  
  
I guess that the crap has really hit the fan, as Xander would say. But he doesn't really say much anymore anyways.  
  
I guess I could kill myself, but those lunatics would bring me back again. How can I ever be content when I know that if I ever died, they could keep bringing me back over and over, so that I'll never be happy? I long to reach for that long sword in the chest at the foot of my bed, the one that with one final plunge through my empty heart would kill me. Oh, sweet death, I await your blessing. You can see that haunted look in my eyes, the one that shows the depth of my sorrow. All I can dream for is that bittersweet release when the world becomes dark, and it's all over. But that's only in my dreams, and my dreams never come true. See, dreams coming true is only in fairly tales. And psssst, fairy tales lie.  
  
As I sit in the dark room, the tears still pouring down, I hear a soft sound behind me, like a footstep. Slowly, reluctant to actually use the energy to move, I turn around, my face bleary and worn. Squinting, I make out the form of Willow behind me, in all her black-haired goth glory, with an evil smirk over her innocent face. I can smell that danger and magick radiating off of her in thick, choking waves, and the small shocks engulf me, calm my frazzled nerves. And as I peer into her flashing, pitch black eyes, I see so much anger, but a little bit of compassion too. A frown creases my forehead as I speculate to what that little emotion could come from.  
  
She just stand there, still smirking insanely as she regards me. I stare back, my heart heavy as I gaze at this witch, so dark and yet beautiful in her sorrow at the same time. Vicious and unrelenting, I could see how powerful and dangerous she really is. A far cry from that geeky computer nerd I met so many years ago, with her plaid skirts and shy smile.  
  
Slowly, like a panther, she moves forward, leather pants catching the shards of sunlight sneaking in. hands crossed, she stand still, but the wooden door behind her slams shut, as if by itself. And than she speaks to me, in a voice cold and void of emotion.  
  
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. You should try to keep your thoughts to yourself more often," she says clearly. I frown, my head swimming. What the hell is this crazy bitch talking about? Looking at me, she rolls her eyes and than gives me another evil smirk.  
  
"Oh, don't look so clueless. I can feel your pain from miles away. Your aura is black as the night, and your thoughts hit my like a ton of bricks. Seems that someone is a little selfish, and isn't being very grateful for the gift they were given," she explains, and I shudder at her tone, at her unemotional look. So she heard that I wished I was dead. Like she didn't already know.  
  
"Well, looks like someone finally found out, huh witchy Willow?" I retort, my bitterness and rage bubbling up to the surface. I finally find the strength to stand up, fist clenched at my side, my eyes filled with something after a long time of nothing. I glare at her, while she still stands there calmly.  
  
"All this fucking time, you pretended you didn't know. Wrapped up in the little fantasy that I would be happy I was back, that I wanted to be here. Well, guess what? I don't! I hate this fucking place so god damn much that death would be my dream. I hate this place, I hate my life, and I hate all of you. So selfish that you didn't care that I wouldn't be happy here. So selfish that you only though of yourself. Well, I'm selfish too, bitch. I'm selfish too!" I screech, my anger spilling over into my words. The tears stop, replaced by dry, scraping sobs. Still she stands there. But I see her eyes change a little, and I see sadness in there.  
  
For a long while we stand there, apart. I still glare at her, but she just gazes back with no trace of the anger I'd seen in her before. My eyes implore with her, and she accepts my request. She knows what I want, what I crave, and she's so bitter and angry herself that she'll give it to me. I see her resolve weakening, and a jolt of relief washes through me.  
  
"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone actually slightly sad. I smile weakly, sadly, when I realize she did care for me after all. Maybe not now, but at one time she did and that's enough for my wish to be granted.  
  
"Yes," I simply say, my eyes closing gently and then re-opening, a sheen of tears coating them. She nods, and I relax, a small happiness of stirring sweeping in my dead heart. Taking a small step back, the room grows darker as she concentrates. I can hear the cackle and hum of energy, feel the mystical tingle.  
  
Closing her eyes, I see the magickal bolts resting on the edges of her fingertips. I sigh once, saying silent pleas of forgiveness to those that I love.I mean, those that I care about. I say a special one to him, for all the ripping pain I caused him. And my last thought is of my dead mother, and my sister, before those blue bolts hit me and the world grows black. That familiar, delicious feeling of serene and utter happiness takes away all of my pain, and I'm truly happy once more.  
  
"When I was little, my family went to Florida. My daddy was there, and we were all happy. He would take me swimming in the sparkling blue ocean, so deep and cool and wonderful on my hot skin. I would laugh as the water tickled me, and washed me clean of my childish problems and fears. But one day, when the sky was cloudy and gray, I went into the ocean alone, without my protector. And I went to deep, to far, and a ice cold wave, angry and rough, pulled me under, and I couldn't breathe. Freezing water filled my small lungs, and my vision blurred, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.  
  
"I knew, even at my young age, that I was drowning. I tried to scream but it was to hard, couldn't pull up, couldn't move.and as I began to slowly lose consciousness, I began to have these terrifying visions, visions of blood and monsters with amber eyes, and pain.so much pain.and I blanked out. I feel unconscious. And than, when I woke up, I was on the beach, settled in the sand beside my dozing mother and father. Confused, I sat up, noticing that I wasn't wet, and that my throat wasn't sore. The sun was out, the sky blue and clear. I had no idea what had happened, and as child I was afraid of what I had seen, afraid of the fact no one else had seen me drowning.  
  
"Ever since that day, I never set foot into the ocean again. Although my body longed to feel those cool caresses my mind screamed no. I could only remember those pictures in my head, and the mysterious way I was saved. Because from that moment on, even at my young age, I knew that my whole life was one big lie."  
  
  
  
~FIN~ 


End file.
